Necessity
by Taywen
Summary: "He can see the exit up ahead, the sign above it helpfully informing him that this route will lead him to Namimori. But does Hayato really want to go to Namimori?" Alone on the highway with dwindling supplies, Hayato has no choice but to chance entering town. One shot, Zombie!AU. Character death.


Disclaimer: KHR! does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Amano, etc.

Notes: This was originally chapter 2 of Iridescent, but it didn't turn out like I wanted. I love this too much to change it, though, oops. So consider this its own, self-contained story. It's not really related to Iridescent at all ~

The universe is essentially the same though: Gokudera's family is still in the mafia but he's not tossing around rocket bombs and carrying sticks of dynamite all the time. There's no Dying Will Flames or special rings and the Arcobaleno [not that they appear here] are their proper ages.

Also, this fic fills the free space on my trope bingo card! I'm choosing "au - apocalypse" for it.

Warnings for: off-screen suicide, language, rehashing of canon events with an au-ish spin, zombies.

* * *

Necessity

* * *

It's not a good day. It hasn't been a good fucking week.

Hell, it's been a fucking awful month.

"There'll probably be less zombies in the country!" some genius said, back in Tokyo.

To be fair, it _had_ made sense at the time. The countryside was less populated, so there'd be less sustenance for the zombies. (And for the humans fleeing them.)

The less said about their escape from Tokyo the better. In a city that claustrophobic, every corner was a deathtrap, a mob of zombies waiting to happen. They'd lost more than half their group just making it to the suburbs. On foot, of course. The streets were choked with wrecks and bodies; it would've been impossible to drive a vehicle out. The trains had stopped running not long after the panic set in.

Then they'd come across an abandoned train. Obviously, there had been passengers, but there must have been infected people aboard. There was blood smeared on the windows and rotting corpses all over the place, but the same genius had said, "I think I can make it run!"

Everyone thought it would be a good idea.

They'd managed to crash the train. Well, it wasn't really anyone's fault, exactly. It was just that they'd forgotten more than one train ran on a line at the same time.

What remained of their group (the count had dwindled down to less than ten) made it out more or less unscathed, but the commotion managed to summon all of the zombies nearby.

There were less zombies than in the city, but in a country where guns were only carried by the police or individuals that underwent the stringent licensing process, it was actually _really fucking difficult_ to fend them off.

The genius had, through some means or anything, managed to lay his hands upon a not insignificant stock of dynamite. They managed to get rid of most of the zombies and ran for it; the sound of the explosions would no doubt have alerted even more zombies.

Their group continued to shed survivors, until it was just the genius and his sister stumbling onwards, scrounging for food (there wasn't much) and struggling to stay alive (a nigh-impossible feat).

"Hayato," his sister says quietly. They haven't spoken loudly since... since...

(Since Hayato had pressed a hand over his sister's mouth to stop her frantic screams for her boyfriend; Romeo was dead, or as good as, and there had been nothing they could do except turn around and keep running.)

Hayato grits his teeth, not for the first time lamenting his lack of cigarettes. "What, hag," he mutters, glancing at her. He doesn't want to hear it. He already knows what she's going to say.

He'd seen the blood, caught sight of the bite mark when his sister rolled back her sleeve to wash her arm earlier.

God fucking dammit.

Bianchi stares at him in silence, her gaze as sharp and clear as ever. The fog of grief that had lingered in her eyes had lifted. Hayato supposes being faced with one's mortality will do that to a person.

"There's a town two kilometres ahead." She gestures at the sign on the side of the road. Apparently they need to take the next right. Well, no thanks.

"So what? There's probably just more zombies," Hayato says. "Let's move on."

"Hayato..."

"I don't care!" he snaps, surprising both of them with his sharp tone. He inhales heavily and looks away.

"We don't have enough food to last," Bianchi says after a few moments. "Even if it's only... only one person."

"Shut up," Hayato mutters half-heartedly.

"There might be survivors," his sister continues doggedly. The forced cheer in her voice only aggravates the anger and fear that has been itching beneath Hayato's skin for far too long. He just wants to scream or cry - or both - but who knows what's lurking around waiting for easy prey. "Hayato, you have to-"

"I don't owe you a fucking thing!" he snarls lowly.

Bianchi flinches, which gives Hayato equal parts gratification and regret, but then her expression hardens. "Maybe you don't," she says coolly, something almost haughty in her bearing now. If it wasn't for the accumulated filth from their weeks of fleeing, Hayato could imagine her in the parlour of their old house, holding court with their father's cronies. "But I'm dying, so I think I'm permitted a bit of selfishness."

The blunt phrasing almost throws Hayato off, but he rallies. "Like you've been so selfless before, hag!"

"Just listen to what I have to say," Bianchi says, far too calm. Is the infection already taking root? Usually whenever one of them (typically Bianchi; Hayato wants nothing more than to forget everything) brings up the past, they end up in screaming matches. Then again, the other infected but not yet zombified survivors that they'd encountered had acted normal right before trying to eat their former comrades alive.

His older sister just doesn't understand that Hayato wants nothing to do with his so-called family. She's dogged in her pursuit of him, and if Hayato didn't have such strong memories of home-cooked meals lovingly prepared by her, he might give in to Bianchi's determined attempts at reconciliation. Luckily, just the sight of her is enough to get his stomach roiling.

(Of course, if it wasn't for him, Bianchi wouldn't have even been in Japan at all.)

"Fine," he bites out. His Pavlovian reaction to seeing her face has all but disappeared, now that he thinks about it. The fear of eating poisoned food fades in the face of running for his life, he supposes. Or it could be the fact that her face is nearly unrecognizable now.

"I lost some of them when we were running... But I do have a few left." Bianchi slips her bag off her shoulders and pulls out a handful of envelopes.

Hayato stares at them, recognizing the handwriting although he hasn't seen it in years. They're more than ten years old, written (or at least addressed) by their father, to his mother. To the _mistress_.

"What are they," he says, making no move to take them.

"Love letters," Bianchi answers. "Our father wrote them to your mother." She doesn't sound sad, or upset, which she really should. Her mother, their father's lawful wife, was still around when Hayato was born. As far as he knows, she was still alive before this epidemic started.

"... No way," Hayato mutters, turning away. He scans their surroundings, but the forest around them is silent. He doesn't quite wish for more zombies to show up because he isn't that pathetic, but it's a close thing. Fuck, he does not want to discuss this. "So you were just carrying that garbage around all this time?"

"It's not garbage, Hayato!" A hint of impatience has entered Bianchi's voice. "I know you think your mother's death was arranged by our father, but that isn't the case."

"Oh, so he didn't mean to keep me separated from her!" Hayato snaps, grinding his teeth together. The next chance he gets, he's going to find some cigarettes. If only to have something to do with his hands.

"It was your mother who turned down Father's marriage proposal," Bianchi continues, like she hasn't heard a word Hayato's said. "You mother was terminally ill. She left you and Father because she didn't want to be a burden. But Father continued to write her letters, in the hopes that the three of you would be able to spend time with each other again. She died and drove her car over that cliff."

Hayato stiffens. He only has a few hazy memories of his mother. She died when he was three years old after all - and he didn't even know she was his mother until years afterward. This is just... too much. As if it's not bad enough that he's about to lose his half-sister, resented or not, now he has to learn that the man he's hated for most of his life apparently didn't deserve it?

"You were born into this world loved by both of your parents, Hayato," Bianchi says earnestly.

"Great," Hayato says, clenching and relaxing his fists compulsively. He tries to make himself stop and fails.

"Promise me you'll live. Or at least try to. Don't give up," Bianchi says.

"You think I'm going to off myself just because you're going to be dead? I should be happy not to have to listen to you anymore," Hayato snaps. Sometimes he surprises himself with how self-destructive he can be.

Bianchi looks like he just slapped her.

"All right," he says. He can't apologize. He _won't_ apologize. "I'll do my best, ok? I promise. That's what you want to hear, right?"

Bianchi exhales, not quite a sigh. "Yes, Hayato. That's what I want to hear. Since you're in such a magnanimous mood, maybe you can take these from me too. It's not like I'll be needing them soon."

Hayato winces, but it's a lot less harsh than he deserved. "Yeah. Thanks," he mutters, slipping his bag off and stuffing them into the main pouch. It's depressingly empty otherwise, evidence of their prolonged absence from civilization. The only reason they're still alive at this point is because Bianchi's a cooking genius and can recognize nearly every kind of plant, edible or otherwise. Thankfully she seems to have given up trying to poison him.

"And this." Bianchi passes him some almost-fresh plants that she had been carrying, and a mostly-full canteen of water. "Not like I'll need them." And then she pulls a fucking handgun out of her bag.

"What the fuck?" Hayato sputters. "_Why didn't you-_"

"There's only one shot left," Bianchi says calmly. But Hayato can see her hands shaking. "I think we should split up. You get as far away as possible. I'll... end it. The noise should bring any zombies in the area to me anyway. Win-win."

"Yeah, for me," Hayato says heatedly. "Like hell! I'm not leaving you before you... before the end. Just give me the damn gun already."

Bianchi's lips twitch at the corners, like she's trying to smile. Her eyes are bright with tears. "No, Hayato. That's too much to ask of you. Even if you do hate being around me so much." She manages to smirk. "There's a town not far ahead. You can find supplies, maybe you'll even find survivors... You promised me, remember?"

Hayato blinks rapidly. His eyes are burning. Probably allergies. Spring's in full swing now; there's pollen and shit in the air or something. "Bianchi..."

She sniffs and drags her wrist over her eyes. The accumulated blood and dirt smears. Fuck, she's crying. He looks away. "Just do it, Hayato."

"I don't want to!" he snarls at her.

Bianchi shakes her head. "It's not like I want to leave you either. But this is the best way, don't you see?"

Hayato can see just fine. "No," he mutters, but his tone is defeated.

"I'm sorry. And I know that this might be hard to believe, but I love you. I don't blame you for... for anything."

Hayato stiffens when she wraps her arms around him, his instincts screaming for him to get away (_what if she bites him_) but he stays still.

"Good luck, Hayato."

"I'm gonna need more than luck," he says sullenly, hiking his backpack onto his shoulders again. He'd been carrying more a few weeks ago, but those few plants and the canteen feel unbearably heavy now. "... Same to you, Bianchi."

Bianchi bites her lip and turns away from him. "Get going."

"... Yeah." He can see the exit up ahead, the sign above it helpfully informing him that this route will lead him to Namimori.

But does Hayato really want to go to Namimori? It's not like he has much choice in the matter...

When he glances back over his shoulder, he's just in time to see Bianchi disappearing into the trees on the opposite side of the road.

"Goodbye," he mutters, allowing himself a few moments to stare at the place where his sister had been before pragmatism forces him to move forward.

Less than two kilometres to town. He can see a few high rise buildings rising ahead of him. From this distance, it's impossible to see the broken windows and other signs of damage that he's sure are there. Well, like Bianchi said, he can't survive without going into town for more supplies.

* * *

Hayato's just reached the first outlying houses when the shot goes off. He flinches and immediately looks around. The number of abandoned vehicles has increased - a wreck not far down the highway explains it. No one could get out after that kind of accident.

There aren't any zombies around yet, but they tend to move towards any loud noises. Hayato's not counting on this area to remain zombie-free for long. He picks up his pace, forcing his breathing to remain calm. He'll need to maintain his stamina for when any do appear. The houses are all broken in - there's no likely places to hide. He'll have to go deeper to find some place to take refuge.

The scrape of broken glass against the ground alerts him to the first arrival... Arrivals. A trio of zombies staggers out of the front gate that he passed a few minutes ago. Hayato ducks behind an overturned car, his heart hammering in his ears.

Why did he think coming into town would be a good idea again? Fuck.

They haven't noticed him, and are moving out of the town. Hayato mumbles a prayer to whatever being above that's watching over him and moves on.

He's not so lucky the next time. Half a dozen zombies appear at the other end of the street. From the moans and cries that they give out, Hayato knows that he's been spotted. With the racket they're making, he's sure any other zombies in the area wll now know that there's a convenient meal around.

Fuck.

Hayato glances down the nearest side street - empty for now - and runs.

It's inefficient - he should go deeper into town, and the fastest way would be the street he's just left behind - but once again he has no choice in the matter. The first chance he gets, he takes a street heading towards the centre of town. When he glances back, the number of zombies following him has swelled to twenty or so.

More zombies appear from behind an abandoned car in front of him.

_Fuck_.

Hayato flinches but doesn't stop; there's less in front than there are behind him. They're moving slowly enough and don't seem to have noticed the boy running at them just yet.

Hayato jumps up onto the trunk, makes the roof in his next step, and lands unscathed on the other side. Confused, the zombies bump into each other and the car trying to get at him. He doesn't wait long enough to see if they manage to untangle themselves.

The street sign informs him that he's made his way back to the main street. Fucking wonderful. The uniform rows of houses have given way to office buildings and shop fronts.

Hayato pelts down the boulevard, his frantic footsteps nearly drowned out by the sound of his harsh panting. The canteen rattles around with every step, bouncing off his back and the confines of the backpack rather painfully, but Hayato doesn't want to stop to do something about it.

The shambling zombies have broken into a jog now. He thinks he can hear the ominous grinding of bone against bone - it's not like those things feel pain - but he hopes he's just imagining it. He's got to be far enough away that he can't hear something like that, right?

Two sticks of dynamite left.

The town had looked so idyllic, if a person ignored the broken windows and scorch marks. Who would have imagined so many zombies lurked within, waiting for an unsuspecting idiot to wander past?

The gaping windows of long-abandoned shop fronts seem like the maws of some great beasts just waiting to swallow Hayato alive. There's nowhere to hide - all the horrible things that he has witnessed only fuel his imagination. What's waiting inside the seemingly abandoned shops could be worse than the growing mob at his back.

What point is there in running? At this close range, the dynamite would be more than enough to kill him, and he'd probably take a few zombies with him. Not like the world would be worse enough without one dumb punk in it. Hell, it'd be better off with less zombies.

But Bianchi asked him to live. No, she fucking made him promise to do so.

Another group of zombies ambles out in front of him, this time without any convenient cars to hurdle over. Hayato dodges down the nearest alley; thank fuck it's not a dead end.

On the downside, two more zombies are waiting for him.

Hayato falters, then runs full speed at a row of garbage cans against the wall. The zombies lunge towards him, but he manages to leap off one of the cans and land safely behind them.

He casts a glance back - the mob that had been following him has just reached the mouth of the alley - and keeps running.

The alley abruptly ends, a section of chain link fence rising above Hayato's head. He grits his teeth and jumps, scrabbling for hand- and footholds. The moans and cries of the mob grow louder as the forerunners put on a burst of speed upon seeing his predicament.

Hayato's almost there. He closes his fingers around the bar running along the top of the fence and-

A slick, clammy hand grabs his ankle. Hayato kicks blindly with his other foot, ignoring the sickening wet sound when his foot makes contact with... he doesn't even want to consider it. The important thing is he's free, at least for the moment.

He pulls himself up, just beyond the reaching hands of the mob. The fence shakes as they throw themselves at the fence in an effort to grab him.

Hayato throws himself over the top, scraping his stomach on the links as he goes over and jarring his shoulder when he lands. At least it isn't his head.

The fence rattles and shakes as the zombies continue throw themselves at it. The only good thing about the current situation is that they aren't coordinated enough to climb. Small mercies.

Hayato staggers to his feet and continues to run, ignoring the pain that throbs in his shoulder with every step.

He emerges back onto the momentarily zombie free main street, automatically scanning the area for likely hiding spots or an avenue of escape.

"Hey!" the call is low, designed to attract human attention only. Hayato glances around, then up when he sees a hand waving at him from the second floor of some kind of restaurant across the street. The first floor has metal grates in front of the windows and door. "Come around back! There's no zombies, I swear."

Amazingly, the dark-haired boy _smiles_.

Hayato stares for a moment, disbelieving. He can't remember the last time he saw a smile, much less one so sincere.

The crashing of the fence giving way behind him galvanizes Hayato into motion. He sprints for the alley, hopefully making it before any of the zombies can round the corner and spot him. A makeshift barricade blocks his way, a strange combination of dumpsters and wrecked cars and other improbable items, but a brown-haired girl suddenly appears at the top.

"Climb there!" she says urgently, her face pale. Hayato looks where she's pointing and sees a cunningly hidden path. He scrambles up, not even protesting when the girl grabs his injured shoulder and helps pull him over the top.

Hayato falls to his knees, leaning his back against the cool wall as he pants for breath. The rest of the alley is enclosed by the surrounding buildings, which thankfully do not open onto the small area. The only door leading to it is from the restaurant itself.

The zombies apparently missed Hayato running this way, because the sounds of the mob steadily lessen until they fade entirely. Hayato is left alone with the girl, who is studying him with unashamed curiosity. Well, she did just save his life, so whatever, he'll let it go this time.

Not long after the clamour of the zombies fades, another girl opens the door. "Hey, how long are you two going to stay out here? Hurry up and get in!" she hisses impatiently.

The other girl musters a smile and holds out a hand for Hayato to take.

He flinches automatically, but it'd be stupid for her to harm him after going out of her way to save him.

"Thanks," he mutters, struggling to his feet. He's drenched with sweat and probably covered in more than a little blood, while she is relatively clean - but if his appearance disturbs her, she makes no sign.

"I'm Sasagawa Kyouko, by the way," the brunette says mildly, leading him into the restaurant.

Hayato gazes around, unable to quash his natural instinct to suspect any and all kindness directed towards himself. The dark-haired boy from before is sitting atop a large counter in the centre of the kitchen.

"Kurokawa Hana," the other girl says tersely.

"And I'm Yamamoto Takeshi. Nice to meet you," the boy says, smiling. Up close, Hayato can see the cracks in the facade, but it's still a lot better than most masks he's seen.

They're all around his age, as far as Hayato can tell. Sasagawa and Yamamoto are both wearing what looks like a generic school uniform shirt. Maybe they attend the same school?

"Gokudera Hayato," he says, lifting his shoulders. Now that the adrenalin has faded, his injured shoulder protests at the movement, loudly. Hayato grimaces in pain.

"Ah, are you hurt?" Sasagawa asks, even as the three of them suddenly tense warily.

"Yeah... but I'm not bitten, I swear," he says quickly, raising his hands.

"Prove it," Kurokawa snaps.

"I'm not going to strip in front of girls!" Hayato snarls back, making an aborted movement to hunch his shoulders before he remembers his injury. Damn it.

"Then you can _leave_-"

"Hey," Yamamoto puts in. "Why don't we go to the bathroom? I can check Hayato there, and if he's not infected I'll patch him up. It's fine if it's just two guys, right?"

"No, it's not fine!" Hayato growls. "And that's _Gokudera_ to you, jackass."

"He just saved your life," Sasagawa points out mildly.

"What if he _is_ infected and attacks you?" Kurokawa says, addressing Yamamoto.

"I have this. I think I can handle it." Yamamoto holds up a fucking _katana_, still smiling like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Hayato can only stare. What kind of crazy group has he found himself a part of?

Taking his stunned silence for acquiescence, Sasagawa claps her hands together once. "Then it's decided! Takeshi-kun and Gokudera-kun will go the bathroom so we can be sure Gokudera-kun isn't infected."

Recognizing the futility of arguing any further - and it's not like he doesn't understand where they're coming from - Hayato scoffs under his breath and stalks over to Yamamoto. "Let's get this over with."

"All right, all right..." Yamamoto hops off the table and leads him upstairs. They bypass the first two doors in the hall and Yamamoto opens the third. A modest-sized bathroom is within.

Hayato catches sight of his appearance in the mirror. His hair hangs in lank, greasy strands, the silvery-gray colour darkened with dirt and matted with blood. His green eyes stand out in his gaunt face, further emphasized by the dark circles around them. He never did have much meat on his body, and who knows how much weight he's lost in the past month; sleeping has been an all but impossible task, especially since it was just him and Bianchi.

"Fuck, I look awful," he says, instead of following that train of thought.

Yamamoto chuckles. "If it wasn't for the way you were running and your eyes, I would've thought you were a zombie."

Hayato grunts, annoyed. "Whatever. I'm not infected," he repeats stubbornly.

"Sorry, but you're going to have to prove it." Yamamoto doesn't sound all that apologetic though.

He pulls off his rings - his wristband had been ripped off during the flight from Tokyo - and places them on the counter beside the sink. His lighter and the last two sticks of dynamite join them. Yamamoto's eyes widen briefly when Hayato pulls them out of his pocket, which is gratifying.

Unfortunately, now he actually has to get around to the undressing part. Hayato pulls his belt loose and lets it drop. It clatters on the tiled floor; before he has time to think about it and get more nervous, he kicks off his ripped and bloodstained jeans.

"Your socks," Yamamoto says helpfully. He ignores Hayato's glare, and doesn't react when Hayato throws them at his feet either.

Hayato pulls his shirt over his head, wary of hurting his shoulder, and drops that on top of his jeans. "I hurt my shoulder in the alley before you saw me," he explains grudgingly. "Other than a few little scrapes, I'm fine."

Yamamoto nods, studying Hayato intently. Hayato tries not to shift under the scrutiny, acutely aware of how exposed he is. Well, the other guy's got a katana, there isn't much Hayato could do against that even if he was fully-clothed.

"Uh, I need to... see everything. Sorry," Yamamoto says, and he actually does sound apologetic this time.

Hayato scowls. He doesn't even know why he feels uneasy - he's done and seen a lot worse than having to strip in front of another guy - but that thought doesn't affect his discomfort.

"Tch, fine." He pulls his boxers down and steps out of them, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. "Happy? Do you want me to spin around?" He turns as he says it.

"That's... that's fine," Yamamoto says. He sounds as uncomfortable as Hayato feels, which goes a little way to soothing his temper. "Your shoulder's bleeding a little, actually, so uh... Haha, actually, maybe you shouldn't put your dirty clothes back on. Do you want to wash up? The water's still running... I'll get some new clothes and leave them in front of the door, just call me when you're done and I'll bandage your shoulder."

Washing up sounds amazing to Hayato, actually. Running water? He could take a shower. Fuck, there might even be _hot _water.

... No, of course there isn't. The electricity isn't running. But still, even a cold shower sounds better than his current grimy state. He's been filthy for so long he's forgotten what it feels like to be clean.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Oh, towels are in there." Yamamoto points at a wooden cabinet next to the door.

"Thanks," Hayato says distractedly.

It takes four washes before Hayato's hair feels clean, and the water in the basin is black before his skin resumes its pale shade. And if he cries while he's washing, it's not like anyone would be able to tell.

The bags under his eyes are still obvious when Hayato looks in the mirror, but without the filth he looks... unhealthy and sleep-deprived, but also something approaching normal. His ribs and hips are more prominent, his fingers nearly skeletal. He'd known that - his rings didn't fit the way they used to, held on by his knuckles rather than lying snugly against the skin - but it's still a little shocking to see now that he has the luxury of time to examine these things. Hayato doesn't linger on his reflection for long - he's probably kept his hosts waiting long enough anyway.

As promised, fresh clothes are waiting for him. They're a little large - they must be Yamamoto's - but Hayato still has his belt, and it's not like Yamamoto's that much bigger than he is.

His old clothes are probably a lost cause. Hayato heaps them in the corner, casts a final glance at the familiar/unfamiliar person in the mirror, and wanders into the hall. The new shirt is draped over an arm - his shoulder is still bleeding sluggishly (it had stung like a bitch when he'd washed it out, along with his other scrapes) and Hayato knows he can't bandage it himself.

"Yamamoto?" he calls.

"One sec," comes the answer from one of the other rooms. A moment later, Yamamoto emerges.

"Oh, your shoulder," he says, frowning slightly. "I think we have so antibiotic ointment... Don't want that to get infected."

Hayato watches as Yamamoto rummages about in the medicine cabinet, setting out some gauze, a partially-used roll of tape, and the ointment.

"Your hair's gray," Yamamoto says, when he turns back to Hayato with medical supplies in hand.

Hayato snorts. "No shit."

Yamamoto shrugs. "It was hard to tell under all that dirt." He motions for Hayato to sit on the counter, which he does.

"So, what's the deal with this restaurant?" Hayato asks, glancing up at the ceiling as Yamamoto begins carefully applying the ointment.

Yamamoto pauses, his fingers warm where they're touching the swell of Hayato's shoulder, before he resumes. "It was my father's."

Hayato blinks, glancing over at Yamamoto as best he can from the awkward angle. Past tense. Yamamoto Sr. is most likely dead. If there had been an adult around, they probably would have been present when Hayato first entered the restaurant.

"... Sorry," he says awkwardly. Hayato's not particularly close to his father at all - biggest fucking understatement of the year - but he knows that most kids are close to their parents.

"It happens," Yamamoto says. His voice sounds like it was trying for light but fell a little short.

Hayato snorts again. "Yeah, zombies just happen." He rolls his eyes.

"They do now."

Silence falls as Yamamoto positions the gauze on Hayato's shoulder.

"It fucking sucks," Hayato offers, holding the gauze in place as Yamamoto prepares to tape it down.

That startles a chuckle out of Yamamoto. "Yeah, it does." He runs his fingers along the edge of the tape, causing Hayato to shiver. He wasn't used to people touching him before the epidemic, and apart from Bianchi, it hadn't become a more regular occurrence after zombies overran Tokyo.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" Yamamoto asks.

"No," Hayato says, rising. He pushes his arms through the sleeves of the shirt and buttons it quickly. "Thanks for- you know." He gestures vaguely at his shoulder.

"Of course." Another smile.

Hayato doesn't know if he wants to slap that face until the fake smiles slide away or not. Well, the guy did just save his life.

"I think the girls were making some food. Are you...?"

Before Yamamoto can finish the question, Hayato's stomach grumbles loudly.

"Heh." The grin that flashes across Yamamoto's face seems a lot more sincere this time.

"Of course I'm hungry," Hayato bites out, tugging at the loose collar of the shirt to position it more comfortably. "Lead the way."

* * *

Apparently the restaurant has a diesel generator in the basement. Fucking weird, if Hayato thinks about it, but he hasn't had a hot meal in a _long_ time so he's willing to overlook that for the time being.

"Thanks for the meal," he says, and doesn't waste any time in scarfing down his portion.

"You had some plants in your backpack, Gokudera-kun," Sasagawa remarks, after Hayato has cleaned his bowl of every last crumb. "Are they... edible?"

Hayato nods, slumping back. He hasn't felt this full in way too long. "My sis..." He stops, eyes burning. Dimly, he's glad that the mere mention of her doesn't set his stomach off like it used to. That would've been a waste. Thinking that only makes him feel worse, though.

"You don't have to tell us," Yamamoto says seriously. "If they're edible, that's all we need to know."

Sasagawa nods in agreement. Kurokawa busies herself with her own meal.

Hayato blinks down at his empty bowl. "Yeah. They are."

"Great, it's been a while since we've had anything approaching fresh greens," Sasagawa says brightly.

Hayato scoffs. "I'll bet." He drums his fingers on the table. "What did you do with the rest of the stuff in my bag?" He wants to be annoyed that they looked through his stuff, but he can't find it in himself.

"We threw out the water; it looked pretty dirty. We saved the canteen, though," Kurokawa informs him. "Kyouko saved the letters for you."

"Ah, here they are," Sasagawa adds, pushing them across the table to him.

Hayato hesitates, then picks them up. There's four of them, written over the span of two years. Bianchi had said there'd been more, but she'd lost them on the run. Why would she bother keeping them at all? They were running for their lives, for fuck's sake.

He pushes away from the table. "Where should I put my bowl?"

Yamamoto has polished off his own bowl by then. "This way, Gokudera."

The familiar form of address - no honorific at all - annoys Hayato but he's objective enough to realize that the grief is probably making him a lot more sensitive than he would usually be about these things. And Yamamoto isn't calling him by his given name anymore, which is something.

"I can wash..." he begins.

"It's fine," Yamamoto interrupts. "I laid out the futon for you earlier, if you want to go to bed."

The sun is just slipping past the horizon now, but Hayato does feel exhausted.

"I'll wash them next time, then," Hayato says. This seems like a pretty good setup, questionable company aside. He's not planning on giving them any reason to get rid of him.

"Ah, sure," Yamamoto agrees easily. "You remember the room I was in before? That's mine, but we'll be sharing it now. The other one is the girls'."

"I remember," Hayato mutters. "... Thanks again."

Yamamoto hums, non-committal. He doesn't stick around trying to decipher that; the thought of getting a full night's sleep for once, without having to worry about zombies happening upon their latest camp, is too tempting.

(It's just too bad that they couldn't have found this place before-

Hayato pushes that thought away.)

His eyelids are drooping when he climbs the stairs. There's a bed with messily made sheets - Yamamoto's, presumably - and a futon laid out beside it. Hayato drops the letters on the floor between his pillow and the wall and pulls his borrowed shirt off before crawling under the blanket. He curls up on his uninjured side and falls asleep within minutes.

* * *

Hayato doesn't wake when Yamamoto goes to bed, and the other boy is already up when the sun filtering through the blinds does manage to wake him.

He tenses when he realizes that he doesn't know where he is - not hiding up a tree or huddled in an abandoned car with his sister - but the motion pulls at the injury on his shoulder, and suddenly everything that happened in the past day floods back to him.

Bianchi is dead, but Hayato is safe, for now.

He closes his eyes and pulls the blanket over his head, wanting nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep in the hopes that this is all a bad dream.

Gradually, he becomes aware of noise from downstairs. Voices filter up to him, though he can't make out the words. He hears the hiss of water running, and a couple of pots banging together. Not long after that, the smell of food cooking follows and his stomach growls loudly.

Hayato forces himself to move. He told Yamamoto that he would help out, didn't he? He can't waste time wallowing in his own self-pity like this. Just because Sasagawa and Yamamoto seem to like him doesn't mean that that sentiment will stay, especially if he proves himself to be deadweight.

He'd only worn the shirt for a few hours the day before, so Hayato pulls that back on. He pauses when he sees the letters lying innocently on the floor, then shakes his head. He can read them later. Or not. He doesn't have to decide what to do with them now.

"Hey, you're up!" Yamamoto says, smiling, when Hayato walks into the kitchen.

"Obviously," he mutters, scanning the room automatically. When was the last time that he didn't have to worry about zombies lurking somewhere just out of sight? It seems like it's been an eternity since he could trust the safety of his surroundings.

"Good morning, Gokudera-kun," Sasagawa says, either not hearing his muttering or pretending not to. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." He can't remember feeling this well-rested, actually. "There anything I can do to help?" Kurokawa isn't in evidence; maybe she's still asleep.

"Nope. I'm just about done, actually." Yamamoto places the pot of steamed rice on the table, along with a plate of nori.

"I'll go wake Hana," Sasagawa says, slipping past Hayato and disappearing up the stairs.

"I'll wash the dishes this time," Hayato offers.

"If you really want to," Yamamoto says comfortably. He wanders back to the cupboard and returns with a jar of pickles and some soy sauce.

Honestly, that carefree attitude is starting to get to Hayato a little. Food is a finite resource. Water isn't, yet, but it probably will come to be. Having to supply sustenance for four people is not going to be an easy task, and given the number of zombies that had been chasing Hayato yesterday, it's a dangerous one too.

"I do," he says doggedly.

Yamamoto nods. "Ok." He dips a sheet of nori into the soy sauce and starts rolling some rice into it.

"... Do you have lots of food stored?" Hayato asks, serving himself some rice. But not much, not even a quarter of what Yamamoto's made. He doesn't want to take more than his share.

"Enough to last a week at least, until the zombies settle down a little more," Yamamoto answers.

Hayato nods thoughtfully. He's good at logistics; something about the other boy makes him think that Yamamoto probably isn't, so much. At any rate, he should try to see their supplies as soon as possible. But asking about it at this point would just seem suspicious, even if he has no reason to take their stuff and run. It's not like the three of them know that.

Above them, he can hear Kurokawa and Sasagawa talking.

"But don't talk about this around Hana. She doesn't like us talking about going outside," Yamamoto adds mildly.

Hayato frowns. That's just impractical. Obviously they'd have to go outside, unless they wanted to lock themselves in and starve. But there'd been people with similar mindsets back in Tokyo. They'd been left behind. Hayato wonders if they're still alive, then dismisses the thought. It doesn't matter either way.

"Morning, Hana!" Yamamoto says brightly when the girls return.

"You're too damn cheery in the morning, Yamamoto," Kurokawa growls, sliding into the nearest seat at the table.

"Amen," Hayato mutters, earning himself a look of approval from the dark-haired girl.

"Not everyone can be a morning person, I suppose," Sasagawa puts in, once again slipping into the conversation to smooth things over.

Hayato rolls his eyes and listens to the ensuing small talk with half an ear while he focuses most of his attention on eating his meal.

* * *

"I'm afraid there isn't much to do," Sasagawa says apologetically, after he's finished washing the dishes. She'd volunteered to dry them. "We have books and... books. There's exercise equipment in the basement, but you might not want to strain your shoulder."

Hayato nods. He's in decent shape from constantly being on the move and having to run a lot more than he was previously accustomed to. That could change since he's safe here for the time being, but maybe he shouldn't let that happen. Who knows when he'll have to make a run for it again?

On the other hand, he should probably heal up some before launching into a fitness regime.

"Reading is fine." Even trivial knowledge could become useful now

Kyouko leads him to the fourth room upstairs, which he'd managed to miss before. It's a small office with two bookshelves on the wall next to the door, stocked with an eclectic mixture of literature. Geographic periodicals are mixed in with books on 'the art of the sword', and there's a surprising number of books about other places in the world. There's a small section of Japanese classics, which Hayato had been interested in reading before coming to Japan.

The downside is there isn't much in the way of books on topics that would seem to provide practical applications for their current situation. He doubts they'll have much need for a guide to filing their taxes, or random cookbooks.

"Thanks," he says, kneeling to examine the books on the bottom shelves.

"Hana and I will be in our room and I think Takeshi-kun is in the basement exercising if you need us for anything," Sasagawa tells him, and leaves him to it.

Hayato blinks, surprised at his newfound privacy. Is it really ok for them to leave him alone? Not that he has any intention of doing something, but they should be more wary... Yamamoto's in the basement. What if he attacked one of the girls?

... Why is there a basement, for that matter? Not only does this place have a diesel generator, but it has a basement? That's not a common feature in Japanese housing, as far as he knows.

Maybe he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Hayato shoves his bangs out of his eyes and pulls a book about Japanese agriculture of all things out of the bookcase. If the zombie population eventually depletes, this could be useful.

* * *

The days fall into something of a routine after that. Breakfast in the morning, dinner in the early evening. They always turn out any lights before the sun goes down. Hayato spends most of his time reading in the den off the restaurant's eating area, and when his shoulder has mostly healed, starts working out.

The first day, he goes to exercise when Yamamoto's down there, but Hayato's pretty sure if he keeps that up he'll develop a complex. He makes an effort to work out when Yamamoto's not around after that.

The only bad thing is that he never sleeps as soundly as he did the first night. Hayato often finds himself staring up at the ceiling, heart pounding after another nightmare. They usually involve Bianchi, or zombies, or some combination of the two.

* * *

"I used to play baseball, you know," Yamamoto remarks about a week after Hayato arrives.

Hayato had managed to wrangle a thorough tour of the place that morning, which had taken about an hour with Kurokawa hovering around him suspiciously. At least there was one person around with a sensible attitude, for all that she doesn't like the idea of leaving the safety of the restaurant. It seems like Sasagawa and Yamamoto are way too air-headed and trusting for this day and age.

"Oh really?" Hayato says, not particularly interested (sports were boring when he had the luxury to watch them; now he cares even less about them). He's mostly preoccupied with wondering how they're going to sustain themselves. They don't have enough food left to last more than a few days, and it would be better to go out sooner rather than later. If they wait until their stock is depleted completely, that's just unnecessary stress.

Unfortunately, Kurokawa refuses to leave. It's probably good to have someone stay behind, but it also limits how much food and other essentials they're able to gather. But forcing her out would only be detrimental anyway.

Yamamoto seems to take Hayato's disinterested words as encouragement and launches into an animated if one-sided discussion of the sport. Hayato's increasingly hostile grunts of acknowledgement only seem to further the conversation rather than deter it.

Hayato ends up stopping his responses, fed up with their ineffectiveness. He just stares at Yamamoto as the other boy prattles on about baseball. Is the guy really this clueless? Or maybe he's desperate enough for a distraction that he'll take any opportunity he can get to forget about their circumstances.

"So," Hayato cuts in, his admittedly short supply of patience exhausted, "that means you've got to have some baseball bats lying around, right?"

Yamamoto's cheerful expressions falls briefly but he quickly rallies. "That's right. Only one katana though..."

"Damn. Well, a bat's better than nothing," Hayato says. It would probably be too much to hope for more than one. He's pretty sure he heard something about getting a license for possessing a sword or some shit when he was researching Japan months ago.

"Haha, yeah. You just have to crack their heads open, it's not that hard," Yamamoto agrees.

Hayato grimaces at the accompanying mental image. He'd been making do with a metal pipe before he'd found the abandoned supply of dynamite, and has more than enough memories of 'cracking heads open' to last a lifetime. "I know," he says sourly.

"Ah, sorry. You've probably been through a lot," Yamamoto remarks. "You seem like a pro."

Hayato scowls. "A pro, huh? This isn't a game, you know! I don't know how you can just smile and pretend like it is. Yeah, I probably have seen more than you, sounds like you've been holed up here pretty much since the beginning while I've been on the run. But that's not something to be _happy_ about, it's not some... fucking... I don't know, _accomplishment_! I don't want to celebrate it, ok?!" he snaps.

"I didn't mean-"

"Whatever," Hayato hisses, climbing to his feet. He doesn't want to hear anything more. Before Yamamoto can say anything else, Hayato stalks out of the room.

* * *

The door to the bathroom opens without even a knock and Hayato snarls at the intruder on automatic:

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Kurokawa crosses her arms over her chest. "That's my line, asshole. You have to stop being such a dick."

"I'm not the one walking into the bathroom unannounced!"

"You're just hiding from the baseball idiot," Kurokawa says dismissively. "And it's totally rude to take up the bathroom for hours, especially if it's just to sulk."

"Shut up," Hayato mutters, annoyed at himself for being so petty and annoyed at her for calling him on it.

"Stop being so selfish. We're the ones who took you in, you could be a little grateful."

"I'm doing my part!" Hayato snaps defensively. "I'm not being a burden."

"Yeah but your attitude is shitty. Now maybe your default setting is asshole, but I'm telling you that you're going to have to make an effort to be nicer to Kyouko and Yamamoto, ok?"

"I'm nice to Sasagawa-san!"

"She's asked you to call her Kyouko. She wants us all to be friends, Gokudera. Don't you want to be friends?" Sarcasm edges her words, but beneath that he can tell she's being sincere.

"My attitude may be shitty but at least it's realistic. Not everyone you meet is gonna want to hold hands and play house."

"If you say that to her, I will make you regret it," Kurokawa snaps, stalking up to him. "Maybe you're not the type to stab someone in the back, but you have to realize that we aren't either. I'm not saying you have to tell us your... your life story or something! But don't be so fucking negative all the time. They're only acting like that because if they stop and really think about this they'd fall to pieces. And don't think we wouldn't too."

Hayato looks away. "Fine, I'll try. Happy?"

"Of course not," Kurokawa says sourly. "But I'm appeased. Now go downstairs and help them plan, they want to go on a supply run tomorrow."

Hayato blinks, startled.

"Didn't you just say you're the realistic one? It's up to you to make sure they don't make stupid risks because I'm not going out with them."

"Tch. Typical," he mutters, stalking past her. "So you do need me."

"Obviously," Kurokawa retorts, her voice pitched low and deliberately obnoxious in an obvious attempt to mimic him.

"Bitch."

"Asshole."

Improbably, Hayato finds himself smirking as he goes down the stairs. It's the closest thing to a smile he's felt in... a long time.


End file.
